Thinking Loudly, Shouting Quietly: Inner Machinations of Val'Aishlym
by Val'Aishlym
Summary: He was logical, emotionless and observant, that could not be argued. But where he didn't lack in logic, he made up for in tactlessness. When one isn't restrictive in a restricted environment, what possible outcomes other than hilarity and misunderstandings can ensue? Apart of the 'Say it With Your Chest' series.
1. Crying Seeker (n,p)

**The thoughts and shouts brought on by the restrictive choices of the free-choice storyline of an Inquisitor forced into the role of Herald to a race disliked by most of his kind. ****Why was this said and done but not that? Why was that said and done but not this? Why was this and that not that and this but this but that but this? ****All your confusing questions answered in a more confusing way that warrants more confusion. ****(most of the time its just I shouting quietly at the window of the world, still unheard by those I govern with a joystick)**

**Rated M to be safe.**

**A/N: Some of these pertain to the storyline of the game, some don't. Some are AU, some I wish happened. There will be male x male relations in this story. If you do not like it, then skip them or just don't bother with the story. The ampersand (&amp;) between two character names in the Char part is a warning of sorts. It means these two characters are shipped together in that particular chapter or drabble. I hope you enjoy - I certainly enjoyed writing this.**

n,p = no pairing

**Chars: Cassandra, Male Lavellan (Val'Aishlym)**

**Ch. Summary: Falling sounds appealing right about now...**

**Thinking Loudly, Shouting Silently: Inner Machinations of Val'Aishlym**

**Crying Seeker**

It was a queer feeling – wondering the woods with his clan; being chosen to spy on the Conclave, having said Conclave literally blow up in his face; becoming the prisoner, held as the most hated person in Thedas….now suddenly he was the final _hope_ of all Thedas – most _beloved Herald of Andraste_. Could these _shemlens_ not make up their minds?

Do they hate him or do they love him?

Of course now everyone suffered because of the hands of _humans._ Doesn't matter if said human is a Tevinter Magister – no who cares about that little detail (but the _shems_, of course). It is a human that has, _once again_, caused the suffering of thousands of people. And why? Because the damn _shems_ are greedy to a fault – quite literally.

And here is he, a Dalish Elf Hunter playing demon slayer – held as some sort of divine hero (more like a lyrium high and over glorified Grey Warden – he had once heard from someone in Val Royeaux). Even after the countless trials thrown at him – as the story behind the Breach revealed itself – people still believed he was some sort of chosen one. He understood the fact they needed something to anchor them – to give them hope. Honestly, he wasn't quite sure he was particularly _radiating hope_.

He wasn't a very religious person himself – though he did regularly pray to Andruil (and occasionally invoked Elgar'nan). He wasn't really sure that counted. Yes, it was faith in some higher being, but he wouldn't blindly thrust his entire being into this _god's _hand – maybe…. He didn't take things as they were and prayed and whined about things going wrong or being punished – _no._ They –being the Dalish Elves, of course – got up and did something about it – placated the god or goddess to show him or her that they remember and cherish their teachings.

Or maybe it was just him….? Maybe he was the only one that didn't take all this Maker and Creator business really seriously – Maybe….. He rubbed the _vallasin _– a simple design depicting Mythal under his eyes, across his high cheek bones.

He didn't really see a point in throwing faith in something that _didn't touch the mortal world, _as they so _eloquently_ put it. If they weren't going to hear him or bother with him, what was the point, exactly? – Although …–

"Inquisitor," He was, _rudely may he add,_ thrust from his dark musings –_'Where am I?' –_ by Cassandra's voice. He rolled a head of long silver locks to the side, deep crimson eyes regarding the stiff Seeker.

She stood stiffly over him, staring out over his perch. He wonder why she was so stiff – was she bringing him _more _bad news about some _shemlen_ he'd _pretend _to be broken up over losing? He knew he shouldn't so hateful, but at this point he was non-too-caring.

There was a continued silence between them that he was slowly getting annoyed by. She came up here, all the way on the wall, just to call for him and not say anything afterwards – and what's with the grim look – _'Oh dear Andruil, she wants me to _do _something….'_

"I was wondering if I – If I could trouble you for a favor…."

'_I wonder if I were to jump off the wall, would I survive the snowy fall….'_

"It's more of a personal matter…but I do believe it would benefit the Inquisition if looked into,"

'_Do I even want to survive the fall?'_

"I have reason to believe that…."

'_If I randomly, just-so-happenly, magically, accidentally on purpose get shot in the knee by my own arrow, would they leave me be for a day?'_

"Is that a yes?"

"Wha-Ha- Yes…" Cassandra gave him a strange look before her face relax. She nodded her head.

"Thank you, ser. I will pass along the message to the commander for debate at the war table. Farewell." With that said, she walked off. He turned his head back to its original position, leaning against the stone where he sat between the gaps of the battlements.

"Why does it always sound like she's about to cry?" He thought out loud.

**-End Notes: Inspired by...well you listen to her voice and tell me something different.**


	2. Annoying Mages (n,p)

**Char: Dorian &amp; Val'Aishlym**

**Ch. Summary: Val'Aishlym doesn't hate him...but he doesn't like him either...**

**Thinking Loudly, Shouting Silently: Inner Machinations of Val'Aishlym**

**How to get rid of annoyingly arrogant mages**

Val'Aishlym stood in the garden, the closest he'd been to a _forest _without having red shit shot at him. He sighed, sitting down on the grass, staring up at the horrible excuse of a blue sky… "Ah, there is our dear Inquisitor! Why does he sit alone?" Val'Aishlym threw a look over his shoulder – no one but Dorian, could that voice belong to. The mage both amused and irritated him on a daily basis. He was just amusing enough that he could keep him around but too irritating to keep around for long periods of time.

After one tryst through the horrible, terrible Storm Coast where he'd complain for the entirety that they were there about the sea and the rain. Really…what did he expect from a place called Storm Coast?

Those 3 days were hell….Though somewhat amusing because of the banter between the Iron Bull and the stupid _shemlen _mage.

He'd do well to probably remember the man's name – up until this point, he hadn't really spoken to him unless the man first approached him….or if he stared for a while, the mage would acknowledge him, then speak.

"Durium, to what do I owe this _grand _displeasure of your presence?" The man paused. He stared. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Once again, he opened his mouth then closed it. He turned on his heels and walked away. Val'Aishlym smirked before turning his gaze back skyward.

**-End Notes: Inspired by Cranberry Jello**


	3. Agonizing Hunger (Lymal x Bull)

**Char: Cole, Solas, Iron Bull &amp; Val'Aishlym**

**Ch. Summary: "…the hunger….its deep, damaging….I want….I need….I cannot have…."**

**Thinking Loudly, Shouting Silently: Inner Machinations of Val'Aishlym**

**Agonizing Hunger**

"Burning…burning…the hunger….its deep, damaging….I want….I need….I cannot have…." Solas looked up at Cole as the spirit began to speak. It was just he and the spirit in the rotunda under the library – his usual spot to paint or stare blankly at pieces of shards. He was just in the middle of one of his staring spells when Cole started to speak. He wondered who it was that Cole was feeling at the moment. "It hurts…I don't want it to hurt….please…let it go….my hunger…my shame, darkness….Standing, staring blankly….the night air is cool against my flushed face….this hunger…is unsatable….my duty….my hunger…the confusion….I hurt…I hunger…I want….I need…"

"Cole?"

"He needs help." Cole looked at Solas. The elf said nothing, waiting. It would probably take a moment before Cole revealed who he was speaking of – if he even did. He'd been saying the same thing for 3 days but had yet to reveal who he was speaking of. Every time Solas would ask, the spirit would just respond with 'the shame, the hunger….he needs help….' And then go silent. Would it be any different now?

"Cole, who is it that you are referring to?"

"I have it…I found….it's in my grasp at last….but the shame, the hunger….I wait for it to resurface again…what would the rest of my entourage think of me? For me to sink so low, so low, so low…..addiction to this….I need it….want to always have it…."

"Are you referring to the Templars and lyrium?" They did have a few Templars in their ranks – Commander Cullen, could Cole be referring to him or one his men?

"Sweet smells….sweet….sweet…temptation….addiction….secrets….The kitchen," Cole looked up. Solas frowned slightly. "The kitchen…." And then he spoke no more. Solas stood up straight and turned towards the exit. Maybe he should investigate.

Upon reaching the kitchen, Solas wish he _hadn't _gone to investigate. "Sweet Maker…." Solas slapped a hand over his eyes and backed away. The Iron Bull and Lavellan were in there – Lavellan with his entire face red with sweet bread stuffed in his mouth and by the looks of it, Iron Bull in a _different _'_mouth'_. Well…hole…_"…Ma ghilana mir din'an…."_

_-**End Notes: **Last line (lit.): Guide me to death. **Inspired by eating a doughnut.**_


	4. A Thing About Race (n,p)

**Char: Scout Harding, Val'Aishlym, Solas, Cassandra, Varric**

**Ch. Summary: He was...somewhat tolerable, correct? I mean he hated them...but that didn't mean he didn't like them...right?**

**Thinking Loudly, Shouting Silently: Inner Machinations of Val'Aishlym**

**A Thing About Race**

This was annoying. Val'Aishlym grunted silently. He wasn't supposed to be here – none of this was supposed to happen! He was supposed to gather information then report back to the clan, he was not supposed to be exploded upon, marked as a traitor, then marked as some herald to some god he didn't even believe existed.

Now here they were in some random field in some random place – _I think she said Hinterfield – _on some god-forsaken mission to save something or another….he really should start paying attention to the finer details on the places the stupid shemlen Seeker dragged him off to. He'd probably finally get a chance to run away.

"Herald-" Val'Aishlym snapped to attention at the mention of the title forced upon him. "It's funny, I didn't think Elves cared about anyone but themselves,"

"And I didn't think Dwarfs knew what the sun was," Val'Aishlym snapped back hauntingly. "But here you are, here…..Vallic is,"

"Varric," Varric corrected with a raised eyebrow. Solas nor Cassandra said anything and Scout Harding looked a bit flustered – and a tad smidget angry. She said nothing farther as she relayed the rest of whatever it was she was saying to them. Val'Aishlym smugly followed behind Cassandra as she led the way, sparing the dwarf a glance as they walked past.

**-End Notes: Inspired by a doughnut.**


	5. Riding The Bull (n,p)

**Char: Iron Bull, Val'Aishlym**

**Ch. Summary: His mind untainted, his body untouched...what was he supposed to take that as?**

**Thinking Loudly, Shouting Silently: Inner Machinations of Val'Aishlym**

**Riding The Bull**

Val'Aishlym was at wits ends. He flipped and shuffled through papers, staring blankly. What did half these words even mean? How did they expect him to _read _and _write _their language _perfectly _if they _literally _just dragged him out of the forest? Did they not realize the customs and language of the elvish to the shemlens was different? Or did they not care? Val'Aishlym stood with a grunt as he walked towards the balcony.

He had half a mind to just toss the papers out the door and let the wind worry about them. He gripped the papers as he stared out over the railing of the balcony. He took a step back, sighed, and turned around. He froze.

There on the bed was a grinning Iron Bull. Was he that deep in thought that he hadn't heard the man come in? Because he knew – the man was _loud_. His steps were stomps and his runs were herds of hundreds of halla running across a field – or maybe even those druffalo things…..or brontos….whichever are bigger – _Where am I?_

"I got the hints," Iron Bull said, his grin still in place. Val'Aishlym turned around before looking back at the Qunari. He looked left, then right, then back again, frowning. _What? _"You want to ride the bull." Val'Aishlym stared blankly at him. _What?_

"What?" He asked slowly. Iron Bull stood up, making his way over to the elf. The elf began to panic inside. Sure, he was a capable hunter – he prided himself in being on the strong side and…well nimble….but this guy – Qunari – was at least 3 times bigger than him…well that's how it seemed in his eyes anyway. The Qunari could easily snap him in half had he a mind to – something the silver-haired elf took into consideration whenever he was near him. _Keep your friends close but your enemies closer, they say. I don't think I want him any closer…_

"I don't believe you have any idea what you're getting yourself into," His wrists were grasped before he could even process what was just said to him. He was backed up into a wall where his bound hands were pinned to said wall.

"What?" was the only thing that Val'Aishlym could spit out. He was so utterly confused. What did he mean by ride the bull? Was it some sort of slang for something? Maybe it had something to do with fighting? Qunaris loved to fight, didn't they?

"I don't think you can handle it," The Qunari continued. Val'Aishlym's eyes narrowed. Challenge accepted.

Josephine walked up to the Inquisitor's quarters just as the elf came out. "Oh! Inquisitor, I was just coming to see if you were done looking over the reports," She smiled, though it didn't last long. "Are you well? You look a bit worn,"

"I'm fine," Val'Aishlym said. "It's done," He started walking past her.

"But…where are they? I need them to – " She had reached her hand out to open the door.

"I wouldn't go in there if I weren't a mage," Val'Aishlym threw over his shoulder. Josephine furrowed her brows in confusion. "By the way," Val'Aishlym opened the door to the main hall. "Could you get in an order for a new bed? Thanks." Val'Aishlym walked into the main hall and closed the door. Josephine's eyes widened slightly. She turned her gaze to the inquisitor's quarters, slightly worried for the state of the room.

She opened the door and quickly made her way up the small amount of stairs. When she rounded the railing, she stopped and gasped. The Iron Bull was there in the middle of a _wrecked _bed. The bed was split in two with the Qunari in the middle of the split. He was groaning with his head thrown back, his arms spread out over his head and his legs up and bent at the knees.

"Sweet Maker – what happened?" _Did she even want to know? The Qunari's clothing wasn't all the way on…._

**-End Notes: Inspired by the fact I had a chance to romance Iron Bull when in fact... I had not even flirted with him a single time (Okay I accidentally on purpose flirted once). I was just friendly with him, trying to romance Dorian but then this happened and I'm just like "Wat?" and laughing at the way he said it.**


	6. The Name Game (n,p)

**Char: Iron Bull, Val'Aishlym**

**Ch. Summary: He tries - or does he? It'd be more of an insult if he wasn't so adorable.**

**Thinking Loudly, Shouting Silently: Inner Machinations of Val'Aishlym**

**The Name Game**

Val'Aishlym grumbled irritably to himself as he walked the courtyard aimlessly. He had just come from the war room, frustrated that he'd have to go do some _kissing up _to shemlen nobles. He wished he didn't have to do it – why did they think he would be able to suddenly know how to placate a human noble? Did they not listen to him when he had said the first time he ever truly interacted with humans was when he went to the Conclave? Did they completely overlook that _minor _detail?

"Boss," Val'Aishlym looked up to see the Qunari warrior waving over at him. He was surrounded by his Chargers – I guess they were training. Was he calling him over? Shrugging his shoulders – because he could use the distraction – Val'Aishlym made his way over.

"Hello Iron Lung," He said, causing the Chargers around him to snicker. Iron Bull raised an eyebrow.

"The Iron Bull," He corrected before saying: "I wanted you to show them that move you did on me the other day. Crazy shit, but if a tiny little elf can take down me, I think it'd be useful for everyone to know."

"How was this even put to practice?" Krem asked with a smirk. "What did you do to warrant it?" Iron Bull coughed. "You won't tell us. Inquisitor, what did he do?"

"He challenged me," Val'Aishlym shrugged. "You broke my bed, Iron Wall," Val'Aishlym turned to frown at Iron Bull.

"Iron Bull," Iron Bull corrected again while the Chargers around him laughed.

"Must have been one hell of a rut," Krem snickered. Val'Aishlym looked at him in confusion.

"We're fighting her right? Please tell me we're fighting her, boss!" Iron Bull shouted with glee as he watched the dragon roar and fly over their head. They were currently making their way to the Griffon Wing Keep in the Western Approach. Val'Aishlym rolled his eyes up and sighed.

"Keep your pants on, Wrought Iron,"

"_Iron Bull_," Iron Bull grumbled as Dorian snickered.

"What does _Taarsod…_What you said when we fought the dragon….what does it mean, Brick Bull?" Iron Bull rolled his eye up. They were in the tavern, just back from defeating the high dragon in Western Approach.

"_Iron Bull_," He stressed. He narrowed his eye slightly. "_Taarsidath-an halsaam_. It means '_I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respects'"_

The elf's face glowed red and not just from the alcohol buzzing in his veins. "You – why – You shouted that while we – Wow…."

"Yeah…I know….Kinky bastard, I am," Iron Bull gave a loud guffaw before throwing back the rest of his drink.

"Your name is annoying - you don't even look like a bull," Val'Aishlym complained. Iron Bull raised an irritated eyebrow.

"Really now? What would you call me then?"

"Dragon." He exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the tavern. "Your horns look like the high dragons not bulls."

"Iron Dragon, huh?" Iron Bull snickered. "Why didn't I think of that."

**-End Notes: Inspired by the fact I say his name different every time I say it...well try to say it...**


	7. Hyperspace (n,p)

**Char: Blackwall, Val'Aishlym, Dorian, Iron Bull**

**Ch. Summary: ****There is a void at the bottom of every archer's quiver - except one law abiding elf archer.**

**Thinking Loudly, Shouting Silently: Inner Machinations of Val'Aishlym**

**Hyperspace**

They were camped out in the Western Approach, just having finished looking into the Darkspawn appearances. Val'Aishlym sat some ways from the fire staring up at the sky, Blackwall and Iron Bull sat directly next to the blaze sharpening their weapon while Dorian played with sparks of lightning in his hand. It was quiet between them before Blackwall spoke up. "Lavellan." He'd decided some time ago he would never in this life time be able to pronounce the elf's given name.

Said elf looked at him. "Yes?"

"I've come to notice something odd…well not necessarily odd….just interesting." That gained everyone's attention. They all looked at him, silently urging him to continue. "You see….we have 3 archers, correct?"

"Sera, Varric, and I. Yes." Val'Aishlym raised an eyebrow.

"Now please don't take offense to this but: Why are you the only one that does not shoot arrows often?" Dorian and Iron Bull's gaze slowly drifted to the elf archer. They, too, were curious. The other 2 archers seemed to have an endless rain of arrows whereas Val'Aishlym shot less often, but still dealt heavy damage.

"I do not own a quiver connected to hyperspace," Val'Aishlym stated. Everyone's brows shot up.

"What do you mean?" they all asked at once.

"I abode by the laws of logic and physics. I know that my quiver does not hold an endless amount of arrows like Sera does….and when did you _ever _see Varric reload his crossbow?" They all looked down in wonder. The dwarf didn't even own a quiver.

"Where the hell is he pulling the arrows from?" Iron Bull asked.

"I doubt we want to know," Val'Aishlym deadpanned.

-**End Notes: Inspired by the fact I just realiezed Varric doesn't own a bolt quiver. (If he does I must be blind)**


	8. Mustachio (n,p)

**Chars: Val'Aishlym, Dorian**

**Ch. Summary: **When we say things "grow" that usually indicates it is...or was alive, correct?

**Thinking Loudly, Shouting Silently: Inner Machinations of Val'Aishlym**

**Mustachio**

It was strange. Dorian stood in front of the book cases with his arms across his chest and a hand near his lip. He had watched the Inquisitor walk past him a few times – though he admitted he was mostly watching the sway in his step. The inquisitor would stop a few paces from him and stare then slowly walk past, continuing to stare.

He – Dorian – sometimes wondered if the elf had caught his staring and that was why he was giving him such odd looks. As the days went past and the elf continued to give him looks – which Dorian noticed was only when he was in the library – Dorian decided to confront the elf about it. "My," Dorian said, breaking one of the elf's recent staring spells. "I know I was devilishly distracting, but I didn't know I'd become a sport." The elf walked closer to him, his eyes seeming to widen with each step before they went back to their normal narrow crimsons.

"Dorian…" The elf kept tilting his head from one side to the next – something Dorian also noticed he only did when they were in the library.

"Could it be that you're trying to find the perfect lighting to bask in the gloriousness that is my gorgeous features?"

"We elves cannot grow facial hair like this," The elf suddenly said, tilting his head to the side again. "I did not realize when you grow facial hair, it was actually alive!" Dorian's eye brows shot up.

"What do you mean?"

"Dorian, your hair moves when I move….I think its playing with me," The elf had a grin spreading across his face as he tilted his head to the side slightly. "Blackwall's can't do this….but I think your hair only likes to play in the library." With that, the elf turned and began to walk away. He only stopped a few times to look back at Dorian, his grin only widening.

Dorian reached up with a frown. "My mustache is alive?"

**End Notes: **Inspired by this little graphical glitch I found. I noticed a while ago but like...every time I go to see Dorian, I can't help but crack up really loudly because - YES his mustache was ACTUALLY moving with the camera.


	9. Up The Wall (Lymal x Bull)

**Chars: Val'Aishlym &amp; Iron Bull, Dorian**

**Ch. Summary: **"Not just in bed. Sometimes it's up against the wall. Once on the war table." - Cole

**Thinking Loudly, Shouting Silently: Inner Machinations of Val'Aishlym**

**Up The Wall**

He'd thought the spirit was just over exaggerating. He was not.

Not at all.

He was spot on – too spot on in fact.

Bull knew what he was doing and he was doing it on purpose. Dorian growled as he closed the door to the War room and walked away. They were doing it in there again – Iron Bull and the inquisitor. Bull knew he had wanted the elf and took it upon himself to steal him away.

Now the giant Qunari was having amazing and mind blowing sex all over Skyhold while he – Dorian – had gone without sex for the entirety of the time he was with the inquisition – AND IT'D BEEN ALMOST A YEAR!

A year without sex – Dorian snorted. And they wondered why he was so snarky and sarcastic with everyone – he was physically starved! Granted, he had been approached by a couple of handsome men, but he hadn't wanted any rumor starting so soon before he could get a chance to lay with the elf inquisitor. Now that was not going to happen.

Now he regretted not taking those guys up on their offers. Dorian gave a forlorn sigh. He wondered if they were serving the good stuff at the tavern still.

He made his way out of the main hall and meandered his way towards the tavern. He was just coming up on it but stopped short when he heard a muffled moan. Against his better judgement, he walked around the edge of the tavern to investigate. He felt his eyebrow twitch uncontrollably in irritation.

How in the hell did the two of them end up on the side of the fucking tavern when they'd just been in the damn war room.

"Kaffas, you people hump like nugs!" Dorian growled loudly. Bull turned his head slightly to regard Dorian with a smug smirk. The inquisitor; however, was too far into his pleasure induced trance to be aware of anything around him but the giant rod inside of him pressing oh so- Dorian growled at his own train of thought. He turned and walked back the way he came.

He prayed they still had the good stuff at the tavern….

He was going to need at least 3 bottles of it…

**End Notes: **Inspired by the conversation between Cole and Bull.


	10. Sweet 'N Sour (Dorian x Lymal)

**Chars: Dorian &amp; Val'Aishlym**

**Ch. Summary: **This is why we usually just skip this scene - it never really works out how people think it does.

**Thinking Loudly, Shouting Silently: Inner Machinations of Val'Aishlym**

**Sweet &amp; Sour**

Dorian was giddy. If you asked him why he looked so giddy, he would probably just tell you it was gas – then again, he probably wouldn't even tell you that or anything at all. He'd probably say something along the lines of 'My, you imply I glow? I didn't know you paid much mind to me – but then again, who could ever ignore such devilish looks like the ones I own?' to which the person speaking to him either wanted to throw something at him, throw him, or vomit….or all of the above.

Anyhow, he was currently prepping for his date with the inquisitor. The little devil of an elf had come up to him while he read a book in the library and asked if they could spend time together. He'd suggested a nice picnic in the garden of Skyhold during night fall. It was nice, pretty, and the chantry-headaches would not be there during nightfall. They'd try on multiple occasions to have a little picnic or a simple walk and they were always interrupted by either the inquisition itself or the people meandering around Skyhold. It got pretty annoying really fast.

He'd bribed the kitchen staff to make a little something for him, managed to snag one of the good wines out of the tavern, and the blanket – he didn't really remember where he got the blanket from. It had a stitched pattern of a nug on it so he thought it would work in his favor since Lymal loved nugs.

…

…

…

…

Then again what if he paid more attention to the blanket then he did to Dorian?

Dorian sucked his teeth. That would not do at all. He lifted the blanket and turned it around so the stitched pattern of the nug lay against the ground and did not look as noticeable as it was before.

Dorian snorted. The elf would probably still spot it. He was on the list of highly anally retentive people right behind Cassandra. Dorian paused. It was hard to tell whether Cassandra would come before or after Josephine. Dorian shook his head.

Why in the world was he thinking about Cassandra and Josephine when his pretty, little elf lover would be making his way to him in a few moments? Dorian stared down at the blanket then looked around the garden. With a simple snap of his fingers, the area was illuminated by tiny sparks of fire embers.

Dorian furrowed his brow for a moment. He hoped this little touch didn't ruin everything. He knew about his lover's aversion to fire – especially when it was fire magick. But he didn't have any time to dwell on it as he heard the elf call his name. Dorian turned to see the elf eyeing the garden, eyes wide in wonder. Dorian gave breathe of relief. "Hello, amatus."

"You outdid yourself, ma vhenan…." The elf mumbled as he took in the floating embers. Dorian motioned to the blanket and the two of them sat down. The elf was smiling at him.

Sometime later found majority of the wine gone, all of the food nearly gone, and Dorian and Val'Aishlym engaged in a heated kiss. Lymal was practically in his lap with his arms draped over Dorian's shoulders and Dorian's own wrapped tightly around the elf's waist.

Dorian started when he heard sudden crackling noise. It kind of sound similar to ice magick when it was being – Dorian's thought was cut short as he felt a downpour of water fall on him, soaking him to the bone. The elf didn't fair to well either, for he had pulled away from Dorian sputtering.

"What in the Creators name-!" The elf had shouted, shaking his head. His hair had become waterlogged and now his bangs covered his eyes completely.

"I am so sorry!" Dorian snapped his gaze in to the direction of the voice. It was a young mage gripped a wooden staff in both her hands. "I-I thought the garden was on fire!"

"Sweet, merciful Maker…." Dorian sighed. He looked to the angry and soaked elf. "I guess picnics in Skyhold are better left fading to black." Lymal grunted and fell back on the blanket.

**End Notes: **Inspired by my weird thought process and the fact I was saddened why they never showed a cut scene of them together and I thought maybe it wasn't shown because something horrendous kept happening?

And yes, I totally broke the 4th wall in this chapter! HAH!


End file.
